Out of a Bottle
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: 'They really knew how to make them back in the 40s.' The irony of that statement is not lost on Agent Hill. SteveMaria, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Avengers._

_**Summary: 'They really knew how to make them back in the 40s.' The irony of that statement is not lost on Agent Hill. SteveMaria, oneshot**_

_Soo, this is one of my ships. That speaks for itself. I just felt some kind of vibe from these two in the movie and I really wanted to write a little something for them, since the fics for these two are extremely lacking. I hope that y'all enjoy this little fic! I've enjoyed writing it! Thanks so much for reading!_

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**Out of a Bottle**

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Out of all of the Avengers, she thinks the one that interests her most is Steve Rogers.

She knows it's rather silly, to watch him from afar like this, like some kind of crazed schoolgirl. _Fangirl_, even. She knows his work, has watched films of what he did way back in the day. Seeing him here, so many years later, has an odd kind of affect on her. It is so strange, that he would be here after all this time, looking as if he hadn't aged even a day.

It amazes her all the same.

He's so different from all the other men she'd met before. The times really have changed, and Steve is living proof of that. The way he talks, the way he addresses people, his morals and his values and his sense of right and wrong. Not many people exemplify those traits anymore. Not many people outside of the Avengers would be able to do what Steve does and keep a level head, keep a sense of humbleness.

She admires him for that.

Maria can think of no other person quite like Steve, that is certain, and maybe that was what draws her eyes to him.

It is a simple look. A simple glance. She feels that it is as unloaded as it could get, but she would be wrong if she were to truly believe that. The feelings that lie beneath the supposed benign gesture are something that she cannot seem to shake, no matter how hard she tries.

And he stares back at her.

The very gesture causes chills to flutter down her spine, pleasant and damning all at the same time, but she holds his gaze with hers, daring him to look away first.

He does, but not before a slight smile twitches his lips.

Maria takes that chance to glance away, as quickly as she possibly can, and go back to her work. Nothing good could come over fawning over a man such as Steve Rogers. Of course, he isn't the heartbreaker that Stark was before Pepper Potts, but he is a completely different danger altogether - he has the ability to actually make her _feel_ something.

She pushes a piece of bang back behind her ear, and leans over the shoulder of one of the other agents as they type diligently on the computer. _That's it,_ she thinks, _bury yourself in your work._

It should be that easy.

Except she is distracted so easily now, just knowing that he is a measly few feet from her, sitting at a table, talking strategy with the others. He has the most noble attitude she believes she's ever seen. Which, she supposes, shouldn't be surprising. She's seen the reports, seen his evaluation. What made the doctor pick him for the treatment to turn him into an American hero. His bravery, his kind heart, the lack of anything resembling an ego. She's seen the before-and-after pictures as well, finding herself gasping at the effectiveness of said treatment. Steve Rogers had gone from gangly, sickly (and yet, bizarrely cute) to this muscular specimen of humanity with a moral compass that has never strayed.

She sighs and then allows herself one quick glance in the direction of the famous Captain America. She sees him talking to Coulson, an affable smile on his face, and thinks, _They really knew how to make them back in the 40s. _

The irony of that statement is not lost on her.

Maria lets her eyes linger on him for a moment longer, watching as he gestures with his hands as he talks, watches as his eyes light up, watches as Fury comes over and disrupts the two of them, saying things about _what we need to be focusing on is that damn Asgardian. _Which, for all intents and purposes, is the correct thing to say, but Maria can't help but feel a bit downtrodden as the openness of Steve's face is replaced with the serious gaze of someone that has seen too much, been a part of too much, has had to leave so much behind.

For a moment, she loses herself. She can't remember where she is or what she's supposed to be doing. All that exists is him and the expression that is too somber for anyone trying to win a war. It tugs at her chest, aching to pull her away from the situation, but to no avail. Maria stares and finds herself suddenly wishing she had never laid eyes on him, because then, at least, she wouldn't be feeling this way.

Fury calls her name, and she glances up at him too late. Steve catches her gaze and lets an encouraging smile cross his face. Her answering smile is clumsy. Smiling has never been one of her major traits, after all.

"Now, I don't know what kind of eye-flirting-nonsense you two have going on, but stop it."

Maria gasps, and starts spluttering around her words. Of all the things she expected of Nick Fury, she did not expect to be called out like that.

Steve starts laughing nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, and then says, almost sheepishly, "Can you blame me?"

The phrase, so innocent and unassuming, so unlike the things she's heard from random other guys, stuns Maria for a moment before she slaps her forehead, trying to hide her own reluctant, answering smile.

They _definitely _didn't make people like Steve Rogers anymore.

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_**End.**_


End file.
